


The Distraction

by lilipad_tea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Cora and Derek development, Cora blaming Peter for killing Laura, Cora/Lydia comfort, F/F, Hale backstory, Hale fire sads and Laura Hale mentions, Lydia exploring her sexuality, POV Cora, Pack Dynamics, South America Cora backstory, aggressive Erica and Boyd are alive reality, annoying older bro/alpha Derek, canon compliant up to 3a, definitely sexytimes in Coach's office, pack peacekeeper Boyd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilipad_tea/pseuds/lilipad_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cora arrives at Beacon Hills she knows two things: she doesn't want to deal with high school and she doesn't want to deal with emotional teenagers. But thanks to Derek's older alpha-brother persuasion, and her new pack treating her like a baby sister, this is exactly what she gets. The one thing that should make all this bearable is the beautiful, brilliant, aggravating Lydia Martin who Cora can't get out of her mind... and who also insists she's straight. Sometimes Cora regrets ever leaving South America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step One for surviving Beacon Hills - don't go to high school.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write what would happen if Derek's pack all came together like they were supposed to, and I also wanted to write Cora/Lydia, so this AU happened. Basically the Alpha Pack don't come to Beacon Hills (but they still exist in this reality, which will come up later. Probably). Which means that Erica and Boyd didn't get captured and found their way back to the Hale pack.
> 
> As for Cora and Lydia, I hadn't found any long fic of them dealing with all the thorny problems, amazing highs, and unforeseen complications of a budding relationship (not to mention exploring new sexualities). So I decided to write one myself. It's still a work in progress (first chapter is pretty short, I'm afraid). And it will be a good deal lighter than 3a - more concentration on character development and relationship building than plot, although there will be plot too of course!
> 
> Enjoy!

“You have to go.”  Derek’s voice is insistent and exhausted, with a tone of finality betraying the fact that he has said this many times before and Cora has ignored him at every repetition.  And this time is no different.  She continues her morning press-ups, acting as though she is oblivious that her imperious older brother is even in the room with her.

“Cora, it’s the law.”

“And you’re such a good law-abiding citizen.”  Dammit.  She couldn’t resist a sarcastic retort.  Now he’s going to take that to mean she wants to talk about this when really all she wants to do is exercise and go for a run, then maybe get coffee.  He’s going to think she has some intention of attending that godawful institution, like she’s just a normal kid, like she has friends to see and a family to return to.  And now he’s got that in his head there’s no way he’s letting this go.

Derek leans against the table, folding his arms.  “Ok yeah, I don’t give a fuck about the law.  You know what I do give a fuck about?  Getting you out of my apartment so I can have some peace and quiet.”

Cora rolls her eyes.  “Derek this place is like a tomb," she says coolly.  "You could use a bit of company.”

“And you,” Derek retorts, pushing out from the table and sauntering over to her, “could use a peer group.  And an education.  A shot at an actual life that doesn’t involve you biting and growling at things.”  He rests his foot against Cora’s bare back, just under her sports bra, not hard enough to hurt, but putting enough pressure on her to make push-ups impossible.  “You’re going.”

Cora snarls.  Her arms are starting to strain from the extra weight, and she has to admit that he has a point.  Not that she needs to go to school.  The Hales of South America were very studious, keeping huge libraries on everything from evolutionary biology to animal law to articles on particle physics.  As the human world bored her and the supernatural world offered Cora nothing but the reminder of her aching loss, she hid herself away, devouring as much knowledge as she could.  And it wasn’t as though she had gone hungry for education even since her return to Beacon Hills.  Big brother Derek, massive dork that he is, gave her full reign over his own impressive book collections.  At this point, Cora was certain that the only benefit to attending Beacon Hills High would be to build up her relationship with the other members of Derek’s new pack.  And thanks but no thanks.  Cora has no interest in bonding with hormonal teenagers, especially new wolves.

But Derek has almost forced her to lie flat on the floor and his eyes are flashing red threateningly.  So if she doesn’t want any hassle she’d better just give in.  For now.  “Fine, fine.”  Derek removes his foot, a smug expression on his face, and Cora jumps to her feet.  “Didn’t mom ever teach you to be respectful to the other members of your pack?”

Derek shrugs.  “It’s for your own good.”

“Yeah,” Cora says sulkily, “using brute force to coerce your little sister, alpha of the year award.”

“Keep talking.  I’ll make you take the bus.”

\---

The scent of teen sweat, raging hormones, and overexcitement hits Cora as soon as she steps out of the Camara.  She shoots a final pleading look to Derek, who only grins and closes the door behind her.  “Be good!” he calls out, driving away.  Even from within the car she can hear him snickering to himself.

“Asshole,” she growls. 

Sighing, she strides into the school, ignoring the hostile glares, curious looks, and various wolfwhistles that she attracts (apparently male lust isn’t even deterred by the dark, shapeless clothing she wears).  Inside the building, her peer group hardly endear themselves to her.  There’s the jocks and all their male posturing, girls screaming and jump hugging as though they’ve been apart for years.  So far Cora empathises most with the teachers who slope past, a resigned desperation already in their eyes.  God, this place is like a zoo.  And Cora hates being caged up.

Picking a locker at random, Cora starts unpacking her stuff.  This is entirely to kill time before homeroom.  All she has in her backpack is the book she’s currently reading (Foucault’s Ethics) and an apple for lunch.  After all, it’s not like she’s planning on attending classes. 

“Freshmen.  Tons and tons of fresh... men!”

Cora raises an eyebrow and glances across the hall.  The girl a few lockers up from Cora, her voice piercing enough to grab Cora’s attention, is gazing lustily at the boys peacocking through the school. 

“You mean fresh boys,” her friend replies.  “Lydia, they’re fourteen.”

The first girl, Lydia, makes an unimpressed noise, and Cora smiles despite herself.  Intrigued now, she turns back to her locker but stays tuned into the girls’ conversation.

“Don’t tell me you’ve made your way through the guys in our grade already,” the brunette girl continues teasingly.

“Hmm,” Lydia replies.  “Do I detect a note of judgement, Little Miss Jaded?”

The other girl laughs.  “No judgement here.  Just, maybe you could consider branching out a little before getting yourself a toyboy.”

Lydia snorts.  “Older guys?  For some reason, frenching a 40 year old charred corpse has kinda killed any attraction I may have had for the mature generation.”

“Gross.”

“But sadly true.  Last semester was not the most fun I’ve had.”

This town is more fucked up than Cora had anticipated.  She starts packing her book and apple back into her bag.

“Anyway I didn’t mean that.  I meant... well what about girls?”

Cora stops packing and unpacking the bag.  Her skin is prickling. 

“Sweet Allison, are you propositioning me?”  Lydia’s tone is joking, lighthearted.  Allison laughs.

“Not me!  But you can’t tell me you haven’t wondered what it would be like...”

Lydia scoffs.  “Well sure, I can’t deny that girls tend to be prettier and generally more agreeable than guys but... when it comes down to it I think there’s some equipment they lack that I would sorely miss.”  The girls both giggle.  “And I love you but, I don’t want some big romance.  I want a distraction.”

The bell rings and Cora closes her locker door.  Not really sure of where she’s going, she starts wandering up the corridor, careful not to look at Allison and Lydia as she passes by. 

“Well, what about her?” 

Cora’s muscles tense but she continues walking.  Allison’s tone was hushed and, if Cora weren’t already tuned into their voices, even her wolf hearing wouldn’t have picked that up.

“Are you kidding,” Lydia hisses back.  “That’s Derek’s _sister_.”  Oh god they know who she is.  “And I think I’ve had my fill of that rabid family thank you very much.”

Hot fury boils in Cora’s stomach and she pauses, fists clenched, deliberating turning back, to attack that stuck-up princess or run right out of this temple of judgement until she feels cool earth beneath her feet and she’s safe in the shelter of trees.  But she does neither.  Restrains herself.  Carries on walking. 

Before she’s quite out of earshot she hears Allison whisper, “oh no, do you think she heard us?” but not Lydia’s reply. 

Cora grits her teeth, so focused on controlling her anger that she doesn’t recognise the scent of werewolf until she walks right into him.

“Hey, slow down there.  It’s not a race.” 

Cora smiles at the familiar voice, and glances up to see Boyd’s kind face.   She hurries an apology.  The hallway has drained of students now, leaving Cora alone with Boyd.  Or, almost alone. 

“Oh watch out,” she says derisively, “here come the badasses.”

Boyd grins as she gestures to Isaac and Erica, leather clad and swaggering, making their way down the corridor. 

“Yeah, Derek may have mentioned you would need some... encouragement today.”

Cora groans.  “So what, this is my pack escort?” 

“I guess so,” Boyd replies, shrugging.

“Wonderful.”

Erica reaches them first, practically skipping in her ridiculous heels, smiling in a cloying, possessive, almost vicious way.  “Heeeey, little pup!  I guess it’s someone’s first day in big-kid school.  Aw.”  Erica pouts prettily, and Cora resists the urge to thump her.  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says, swinging an arm around Cora’s shoulders and squeezing.  “We won’t let anyone steal your lunch money.”

Isaac snickers and even Boyd smiles.  Growling, Cora shrugs Erica off. 

“Ok thanks, but I don’t need any kind of help from a bunch of freshly-bitten werepuppies who can’t even control their time of the month.”

Isaac blinks.  “Was that a.... was that a period joke?  Cos that really doesn’t make much-”

Snarling, Cora cuts him off.  “And seeing as I pulled myself out of my burning house and travelled hundreds of miles at the age of eleven, I think I can handle a few boring hours of sitting, even if I do have to put up with insufferable teenagers.”

Erica smiles nastily again.  “Derek was right.  She _is_ basically a crabby old woman.”

Pushed to her limit, Cora’s eyes flash a furious gold, and Erica responds in kind, claws already out.  But before they can start anything, Cora feels a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Ok, ok, I think we’ve done enough inter-pack rivalry for now.  Unless you guys want to get detention on the first day back.”  Boyd, ever the peacemaker.  Cora reluctantly retracts her teeth and claws, and Erica does the same.  

“Crap,” Isaac starts shoving them through the door.  “Harris is on his way over.”

And then Cora is swept into the classroom, not even noticing which seat Isaac has pushed her into, her open bag spilling its meagre contents onto the floor.  Rolling her eyes, Cora reaches down.

“Oh, I got it.”

Cora takes the apple from slender fingers, nails painted bright pink.  “Thanks,” she says, glancing up at the girl sitting beside her.  And she freezes.

“Uh, no problem,” Lydia says hesitantly.

Perfect.


	2. Step Two - don't tease Lydia Martin

“Today,” Mr Harris drones from the front of the classroom, “we are going to be learning how to make one of the most used liquid solutions in both hospitals and science labs.  Now would be the perfect opportunity to ask if any of you know to which solution I am referring, but your grade averages from last year have left me disillusioned on the notion that any of you have a brain inside your skulls.  So we’ll just move on to the instruction part of the lesson.”

Cora raises an eyebrow at Harris’ sardonic rant.  She has decided to hate high school, but if all the teachers are as pessimistic and pupil hating as Harris, at least it might be entertaining.  Homeroom had quickly transitioned into the first lesson of the day, which means that she is saddled with the redhead princess as her lab partner.  For the rest of the semester, apparently. 

Harris, having drawn up the ingredients on the board, is now pointing their attention to the various jugs, powders, beakers, and a plastic pouch on their desks.  “Saline solution,” he states, answering a question no-one asked.  “Useful for everything from treating wounds, washing beakers and, most importantly, curing hangovers.”  An interested murmur ripples around the room, which Harris cuts off by raising his hand.  “Of course, the latter can only be achieved intravenously.  That’s through an IV going into your veins via a canella, oh uneducated children, and it is highly inadvisable to do at home.”

Cora wonders whether Harris is deliberately tempting them to stick needles into their arms, or whether he just doesn’t care about the effects of reverse psychology on teenagers.  But she doesn’t have any time to expand on this thought, as Harris has sat down and picked up a book, presumably implying that it’s time for the class to work with their partners to create the solution.  Taking the hint, the kids start chatting happily, and the sound of clinking beakers fills the room. 

“So,” says Lydia’s perky voice, “which variation of the solution are we making?”

Glancing beside her, Cora can see that Lydia has already set out the powders in a neat line, and chosen which beakers she wants to mix them in.  Maybe having her as a lab partner won’t be so bad after all.  Lydia seems like the kind of person to get frustrated and do all the work herself. 

“Well?” 

“Oh, uh.”  Cora looks at the slip of paper Harris gave them.  “0.9% saline solution.”

Lydia groans.  “Trust Harris to give us the most boring one.  That’s just sodium chloride.  I could whip that up in my sleep.  Might as well be adventurous and put some dextrose in it.”  Making annoyed squeaks in her throat, Lydia pushes back all but two of the powders, and starts measuring them out.  Cora can’t help but feel amused.

“Right, Derek told me you were some kind of genius,” she says, trying not to sound sarcastic.  “I guess saline isn’t as interesting as Molotov cocktails, huh?”

Catching Cora’s eye, Lydia gives a little half-smile.  Her lips are as pink as her nails, and they crease dimples into her cheeks.  “I heard the boys took my recipe and made it work.  Good to know they gave credit where credit was due.”

Cora snorts.  “They didn’t.  Derek said he knew they weren’t clever enough to come up with something like that and assumed it was you who told them how.”

“Oh.”  Lydia, disgruntled, tosses her hair slightly, and Cora can’t help but inhale the slight breeze of Lydia’s scent.  She smells like French vanilla and lilacs and nervousness.  Like most born werewolves, Cora is accustomed to sensing emotions by the hormones associated with them.  And she’s surprised to learn that under Lydia’s projected air of self confidence and power, there’s more than a little unease and tension.  Oddly, this makes her warm to the girl.  Cora understands the importance of putting on armour, be it a callous attitude or self centred confidence, to protect how lost and scared you feel inside.

“You could start heating the water.”  Lydia carries on with her preparations while giving commands.  “It needs to boil and cool to 98 degrees before we can mix in the ingredients.”

Today is definitely a day for being pushed around.  “But it’ll only take a minute for the water to cool from 100 degrees to 98,” Cora argues, “so why-”

Sighing, Lydia shoots Cora a glance.  “98 degrees Fahrenheit.  We need to boil it then cool it to body temperature.  Otherwise it would cause shock when it enters the body.  Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Cora mimics under her breath, but grabs the beaker and fills it with water before Lydia can do any more than narrow her eyes.

They sit in a busy quiet for a while, as Cora lights the Bunsen burner and Lydia continues measuring the ingredients.  The soft popping of bubbles prompts Cora to take the beaker off the heat.  Leaning over to check the temperature, Lydia’s hair pools on the desk in front of Cora and she has to resist the urge to bat it like a kitten with yarn.

“Uh, how we doing?”

“Fine,” Lydia answers, leaning back and tucking her hair behind her ears.  “We just have to wait for the water to cool.”

“So do you make a habit of that?” 

A confused frown creases Lydia’s face.  “I’m sorry?”

“Hunting the Hales with Molotov Cocktails?  I mean... should I watch my back around you,” Cora asks, her tone steady and low.  Lydia’s mouth hangs open and she seems to be caught somewhere between outrage and guilt.  Good.  Like Cora was just going to let her comments earlier go unpunished.  But she can’t help smiling at Lydia’s stunned silence.  “Chill.  I was joking.  Actually I guess I should thank you.  My uncle’s one rabid dog that definitely needs putting down.”

Blinking, Lydia fiddles with the thermometer.  “You heard that in the corridor then?”

“Yep.”

“Well you can stop this passive aggressive shit right here,” Lydia hisses, staring Cora down.  “I have had enough to deal with from the various furry fiends in this damn town, and I don’t want to get into some silly vendetta with you over something I had no control over.”

Throwing her hands up in surrender, Cora smirks.  “Ok, I get it.  Just don’t judge my entire family on the actions of one psychopath.”

Lydia tilts her head and shrugs.  “Fair enough.  But maybe if you want to make friends you shouldn’t eavesdrop on their private conversations.  And no,” Lydia continues, raising a finger when Cora opens her mouth to retort, “you didn’t just hear it because you’re a wolf, I know you guys have highly selective listening skills.  Now stir.”

Cora does as instructed, smiling again.  “Who says I want to make friends with you?”

“Please.  I’m Lydia Martin.  Everyone wants to be friends with me.”

“Well you’re such a warm and welcoming person...” Cora says teasingly, and Lydia smiles. 

“Exactly.”

\---

The rest of the day passed fairly smoothly.  Harris deemed Cora and Lydia’s solution “tolerable” which was, according to Isaac, the biggest compliment he’s ever paid a student for their work.  Captured as soon as she left the classroom, Cora was forced to sit beside Boyd, Erica, or Isaac for the remainder of her lessons and even at lunch.  Lydia seemed to find this quite amusing, giving Cora a little wave as Erica grabbed her shoulder and steered her towards their cafeteria table. 

Apparently teenagers also function on a pack system: moving around the school in tight groups formed by a unified interest, sport, or mutually bad dress sense.  By last period Cora is longing for the uncomplicated joy of hiking, of mountain air and shady libraries, a home where she understood the people and each interaction didn’t seem to test and judge everything about her.  But as she finally leaves the school, stomping across the parking lot exhausted, she sees Derek leaning against the car and remembers why she made the decision to return to Beacon Hills.

“So what’s the damage,” he asks, “get in any fights?  Do I have to go to the principle or pay some kid to keep his mouth shut?”

Cora shoves Derek aside with her shoulder, opening the door and chucking her bag inside.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.  Don’t worry, no children were harmed in the making of Cora’s misery.”

“That right?”

Growling, Cora turns to retort, but Derek is talking to Boyd.  Who has followed her to the car, along with Isaac and Erica.  What dutiful guard dogs they are.

“Yeah everything went fine,” Boyd replies evenly.

“More than fine,” Isaac chips in, ruffling Cora’s hair, “she’s Harris’ new pet!  He said her work was tolerable.”

Erica laughs and Derek raises his eyebrows in mock amazement.  “Wow.  Pity we can’t put that on the fridge.”

Suppressing yet another urge to kick and bite everyone in the vicinity, Cora just folds her arms.  “You guys are jerks.”

“True,” Erica trills, and taps viciously manicured finger to Cora’s nose.  “But we’re your jerks.”

“Ok,” says Derek, guessing that Cora is nearing breaking point.  “We’re gonna head home.  Don’t forget training at the weekend.”

The others say their goodbyes, and finally, finally, Cora is in the car and driving and doesn’t have to deal with social interactions for at least 15 hours.  She closes her eyes and leans her head back.  Taking the hint, Derek doesn’t press her about her day, and Cora enjoys the brief silence.  Until they reach the lights and the car sputters and stops and refuses to start no matter how many times Derek thumps the dashboard.

Eyes still closed, Cora says, “car’s broken.”

Derek growls.  As he calls the mechanic, Cora gets out to check the engine, which is steaming as she opens the hood.  The driver’s side door slams and Derek joins her.

“The battery’s faulty,” Cora explains.  “See here?  The exposed wire caught fire and nearly blew up the engine.  Good thing you stalled at the lights.”

“I did not stall.”

“Dude, it basically saved our lives, you don’t have to deny it.  Anyway,” she sighs, and kicks the bumper fondly, “I think the Camaro is dead.  Maybe you could invest in a people carrier?  Seeing as you’re the pack mom now.”

Cora cackles even as Derek cuffs her ear, and closes the hood.  When the mechanic arrives he tells Derek the same thing anyway, and Cora enjoys a brief conversation with him about the faulty batteries on the Camaro V8 models.  One of her favourite pastimes in Peru had been messing around with cars, fixing the engines and tinkering to her heart’s delight.  She understands machines.  They have needs, like animals, and it’s easy to work out how to treat them.

Derek is strangely quiet as they walk the last mile back to his loft.  This isn’t his usual pensive silence: he keeps shooting glances at her and taking a breath like he’s going to start talking.  By the time they’ve got home, and Derek has made yet another pondering noise without saying anything, Cora is sick of this.

“Look, just say whatever it is you’re thinking about before I beat it out of you.”

Derek wanders over to the fridge.  “It was just something that Brad said before he took the car away.  He was surprised at how you knew what was wrong and wanted to know if you’d be interested in working in his shop at the weekends.  Juice?”

“Huh.” Surprised, Cora sits on the desk, catching the bottle Derek throws to her. 

“You’d get paid.  Not that we really need money,” Derek says, leaning against the table next to her.

“Yeah but our family funds aren’t going to last forever.  Especially if you keep throwing them at sports cars and rustic decor.”

Derek frowns and opens his own bottle of orange juice.  “What’s wrong with the loft?”

“Nothing.  If you’re a 30 year old hipster with a boner for outdated industry chic.”

“Well,” Derek says, “get a job and maybe you’ll have some say in what our home looks like.”

“Can I get rid of the Star Trek worthy siren you have instead of a doorbell?”

“No.”

“What about a TV?”

“Maybe.”

Cora jumps off the table, tossing her empty bottle at Derek.  “I’ll call Brad after I’ve showered.”

“Great.  But if you do get a TV you’ll have to share it with Isaac.”

Stopping mid-step, Cora hisses, “Isaac’s coming to live here?”

“Yeah,” Derek says casually, chucking both their bottles in the bin.  “Erica’s parents chucked him out.  Seeing as we have a spare bedroom, and he’s in our pack, you have a new housemate.”

Cora sighs.  “You just love making things easy for me, don’t you?” 

“You’ll get over it.”

Laughing, Derek pats her shoulder just a bit too hard as he walks past to his room.  Cora breathes deeply.  This is what she came back for.  Quality time with the only family she has left... who is intent on making her life hell.


	3. Step Three - don't go into the woods at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit later and shorter than I expected! Also apologies for the British spelling. I tried to take out the u but I just... couldn't. Expect pack bonding and sketchy car workshop descriptions next chapter!

It’s a hazy quarter moon tonight, and Cora closes her eyes as she stands at the edge of the forest, feeling the silver strength of the lunar light on her skin.  Breathing the cool green air deep into her lungs, she starts running.  Her feet are bare, her hair is loose and she finally feels calm.  This is where she belongs.  Her muscles have been aching for this, cramped all day sitting and standing.  These are the moments when she is most herself, among the soft animal sounds of the night, hidden in shadows where she can see and smell and taste the natural world. 

Cora smiles, races up a small mound, crouches and lets herself shift into the beta form.  Her senses immediately sharpen.  She licks the jagged peaks of her teeth and resists the urge to howl.  The last thing she wants is the pack thinking she’s in trouble.  She allows herself a small growl, causing the rabbits gathering curiously to bound away in terror.  Cora chuckles to herself but stops when she hears a crack and slight whimper.  A distinctly human noise, not far off.  Instinctively, Cora shifts back to human, debates turning back.  She fears discovery.  It’s not logical: she knows that whoever it is will just assume she’s a normal night-time jogger, albeit without a torch or water.  And barefoot.  But the wolf in her is perpetually stuck between fight and flight, and it’s moments like these that test her.

The human cries out again; Cora makes her decision.  She runs towards the voice.  The trees seem to tangle around her, the forest getting denser and darker.  As she gets closer she catches the scent of sweat and fear and.... lilacs?  Cora breaks through into a small clearing.  There is a girl fallen, strawberry blonde hair caught on branches, swearing like a sailor.

Sighing, Cora moves quietly over to her, places her hand under Lydia’s arm.  Shocked, Lydia stares at Cora, the moonlight glinting in her eyes.  Cora’s fingers tighten and she helps Lydia into a sitting position. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to go into the woods alone?” Cora asks.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stalk people?” Lydia snaps back, and Cora notices the lack of makeup on her face.  She looks younger, vulnerable, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I was just going for a run,” Cora says, trying not to sound defensive.  “Do you want me to leave?  Or do you want me to help you with,” Cora gestures to the large knot of hair and twigs preventing Lydia from standing, “this.”

Lydia presses her lips together, glances at the ground, and nods wordlessly.  The branches are fixed firmly in Lydia’s ginger tendrils, and as Cora leans over, she swallows and hopes that Lydia doesn’t see the sweat cooling on her back.  Her fingers buried in Lydia’s soft hair, breaking twigs and winding strands around leaves, Cora asks, “how did this happen anyway?  You lose a fight with a tree?”  She curses inwardly.  What was that?  That wasn’t funny.  It didn’t even make sense.

“Uh, no.”  There’s a snapping sound as Lydia leans forward.  She turns her shoulder slightly, her hand wrapping around Cora’s.  “I think you got it.”

“Right.” 

Cora stands quickly, and Lydia shakily follows suit.  She looks around, like she’s surprised to be here, like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Are you ok?”

“Hmm?”  Lydia looks at Cora searchingly, and Cora is suddenly painfully aware of her ratty running clothes, her dirty feet.  “Oh uh.  I thought.... I was on my way to the store?”

Cora looks around too, half smiling.  “Well I don’t think you found it.”

“There was,” Lydia walks a few paces away, spinning around, her voice cracking.  “There was a voice or, I felt like something....  Is anyone else here?  With you or-”

“No.  We’re alone.”

“Right.  God.”  Lydia drops her head and laughs.  “I can’t believe this is happening again.”  Again?  “Wandering around in the woods is my least favourite extra-curricular activity.”

There is something very odd about this girl, Cora decides.  “Maybe don’t do it then?”

“Of course!”  Lydia laughs again and Cora starts getting worried.

“Look uh, Lydia,” Cora reaches out to pat her shoulder comfortingly, but retracts her hand at the hostile look on Lydia’s face.  “Do you wanna, I mean do you want me to take you home?  Um, take you to your car?”

Why is she nervous?  Cora’s pulse is elevated and she feels on edge, like she’s in school.  There’s just the two of them in this quiet, moon dappled glade.  This is her comfort zone and seeing Lydia here is... disconcerting.  But she looks so good against the darkest greens and browns of the night forest, the moonlight making the pale golds in her hair shine.  Even without her makeup Lydia looks lovely, celestial almost.  Cora is reminded of the moon goddesses of myth, Serene and Phoebe, the ones ancient werewolf cults worshipped.  And she has been staring for a long time.

“Well I guess I left my phone in my car along with my pride so yeah,” Lydia gives Cora a genuine smile.  “That would be great.  Except I’m not sure where I parked?”  She winces.

“I can find your car.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow.  “Is car detection one of your werewolf super powers?”

“No uh,” Cora shifts her weight.  “Scent tracking.  I’ll follow your scent back to the car.”

“My scent.  Well isn’t that... intimate.”

Cora shrugs, turns to go.  “If you’d rather stay here-”  She’s cut off by Lydia grabbing her arm.  Cora’s skin tingles slightly at the contact.

“Nope.  Lead on, Scooby Doo.”

Gritting her teeth, Cora makes a mental note to pay Lydia back for that comment later when she’s not so on edge.  Although since Cora has been talking to her, Lydia’s pulse has calmed and her scent has got less sharp as her body stops churning out the stress hormones.

They walk in a comfortable silence, the autumn leaves crunching under their feet.  It’s a while before Cora realises Lydia is trembling.

“You’re cold.”

“It’s midnight and I’m in a sun dress.  Of course I’m cold.”

Cora frowns.  “I don’t get cold so I don’t have a jacket or anything to give you.”

Amused, Lydia cocks her head and shoots Cora a look.  “You want to give me your jacket?  Hate to bust your bubble sweetheart, but gloomy forest walks aren’t my typical idea of a date.”

Wincing, Cora realises that did sound a bit cliché.  “Really?  Cos I thought rescuing girls was pretty romantic.”

“Calm down sweetie, it was just a tree.  I was in no huge peril.”

“I don’t know, those California coyotes,” Cora says teasingly, “they get pretty peckish this time of year.”

“Especially for young girls trapped in trees, right?”

“Exactly.  I’m practically a knight in shining armour.” 

“Shining armour, but no shoes...” Lydia muses.  Cora curls her toes self consciously, and Lydia punches her arm. 

“Are we,” Cora hesitates, then continues anyway, “are we flirting?”

“Mm, kinda.”  Lydia smiles coyly and snaps off a branch, swinging it idly as she walks.

“I thought you said you weren’t into girls.”

“I said that?”

“Yes.”

“I said that... to you?”

Cora doesn’t reply, remembering Lydia’s comment about eavesdropping.  The trees start thinning out, and they’re walking through pools of moonlight rather than dappled patches.  “We’re almost there.”

“Ok.”  The branch Lydia’s swinging swishes as it slices through the air.  “Isn’t your old house close to here?”

There’s a feeling Cora gets when she thinks about that, about her family, like the world somehow gets darker and her heart drops into her stomach.  She clears her throat.  “Somewhere around here, yeah.”

“Thought so.  I found it once.  Have you been back there since-”

“No,” Cora lies.  “Is that your car?”

They’re at the entrance to the Preserve, and there’s only one car in the small parking lot.

“What do you know,” Lydia turns and beams at Cora, “guess we can add car detective to your resume.”

“You gonna be ok to drive?”

Nodding, Lydia says, “yeah.  I feel a bit clearer now.  I guess before was just-”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to explain.”  Cora sticks her hands in her pockets and shrugs.  “Stuff gets weird around here, or so I’ve been told.”

Pressing her lips together, Lydia gives a wry smile.  “You’re not wrong.  So.  I guess I’ll see you in school tomorrow?  I’d offer you a lift but I guess you wanna be all One With Nature and stuff?”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Sure.”  Lydia looks at Cora, her expression sincere.  “And thanks.”

Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks a little, Cora swallows.  “Anytime.  See you.”

“Bye.”

Cora watches until the red glow of the car’s lights fades into the inky darkness.  There’s plenty of time before dawn but she just doesn’t feel like running any more.  Lydia had surprised her.  Cora had expected her to be abrasive, to reject help before tossing her hair and finding her own way back but instead...  Lydia had been sweet, vulnerable, genuine.  Nothing like the persona.  Is this duplicity?  Or does she just have hidden depths?  For Cora, who finds it difficult to hide anything, who is doggedly straightforward and best understands others like her, Lydia is intriguing. 

Cora stands there for far longer than she should, pondering the infinite complexities of Lydia Martin.  Until her phone buzzes and it’s Derek and he wants to know what the hell she’s doing out so late on a school night and whether she can bring back frozen waffles cos they’re all out.

“Some disciplinarian,” Cora mutters to herself, and starts jogging home.

Later she’ll blame it on her focus on Lydia, the strong scent of her perfume and the distracting shine of her hair.  Because there’s no other reason, really, that Cora didn’t catch the cloying stench of the rapidly decaying murder victim stashed at the edge of that clearing.


	4. Step Four - don't make fun of Derek's car choices.

It’s 7am, which is early even for Cora.  But the stupid claxon alarm is blaring and Cora can hear it through the pillow and blankets pulled far over her ears.  Damn wolf hearing.  Just as she’s about to stomp down the stairs (not easy: you ever try menacingly stomping down spiral stairs?  You can’t.  You’re just scowling and slowly descending in circles and you look ridiculous.  Which is exactly what Cora told Derek last time he tried it), the alarm stops.  But it’s replaced by the scrape of the metal door, and loud male voices accompanying the dragging of bags.

Guess Isaac’s moving in today.  Cora groans and rolls over, deluding herself that she’ll get another few minutes of sleep if she tries hard enough.

The last few days have been a blur of routine: get up, go to school, ignore as many annoying teenagers as possible, go for a run, go to bed.  Cora had been eagerly awaiting her weekend, hoping to sleep late, work out and go for a run today, before her first shift at the car workshop on Sunday.  So far, no such luck on her lie in.

Sighing, Cora shoves back the covers and gets up.  Her room is as bare and sparsely decorated as the rest of the house, although she’s put blackout curtains over the enormous window that takes up most of the outside wall.  She grabs the faded V neck red top from the chair beside her bed, pulls on her jeans, considers brushing her hair before shrugging and slouching off to the bathroom.  There’s no point really, her hair is too straight to tangle.  Cleaning her teeth, Cora chuckles to herself.  She used to joke that the only straight thing about her was her hair.  Until her Uncle got sick of Cora saying this at every opportunity, and threatened to cut all her hair off so she couldn’t use it for puns any more.

There is a loud laugh from downstairs, which Cora identifies as Isaac’s.  If she listened closely she could probably make out what they’re saying.  There’s a small paranoid part of her that’s worrying that she’s the subject of their jokes, but she ignores it, spitting out the toothpaste maybe a little too violently. 

Isaac is Cora’s second least favourite of Derek’s initiates, Erica being most hated and Boyd being....  Well, Cora likes Boyd.  Cora regards Isaac mostly with mild annoyance, although his sense of humour is very close to her own, and she often has to hide her smile when he makes dry or inappropriate comments.  In fact, she would probably like Isaac if it weren’t for the fact that Derek treats him like a little brother: they have private jokes and share some kind of understanding that Cora is excluded from.  And this is what really grates on her. 

It’s not that Cora is possessive and jealous.  It’s that Derek is the only family (who she considers family) that she has left.  Plus pack dynamics are always really difficult to manage, especially with bitten wolves who know next to nothing about themselves and the world they’ve been dragged into.  And Cora doesn’t want to educate werepuppies, doesn’t want to get treated like the baby when she knows all of the terrible ways this world can hurt you.  Doesn’t want to share the brother she thought she’d lost.

Ok, maybe she is a bit possessive and jealous.  But that’s to be expected, right?

Cora opts to walk down the stairs in a cool and uncaring way, though she’s sure she still looks silly.  Sprawled over their one couch, Isaac looks up at her entrance, grinning widely.  He’s dressed like a supermodel, all casually creased leather with a scarf draped lazily around his neck.  (Cora is convinced that Isaac spent at least half an hour in front of the mirror, arranging the droop of the scarf just right so it looks like he just threw it on.)

“Hey Cora,” Isaac says, “you’re up early.”

“Yeah and whose fault is that.”  Ignoring Derek, who is leaning in his customary position against the table, Cora goes into the kitchen.  Opening the fridge, she growls softly.  “I had half a burrito in here,” she calls out accusingly.

“Isaac hadn’t had any breakfast,” Derek replies in explanation, and Isaac shouts out a “sorry” that doesn’t sound remotely apologetic.  Clenching her jaw, Cora grabs a smoothie instead and almost trips over a sports bag on her way back to the lounge.

There is an awkward silence.  Cora slouches against a pillar, slurping her smoothie obnoxiously loudly.  Isaac, for all his affected coolness, looks nervous, and Cora can hear his slightly elevated pulse.  She smirks.  And Derek’s just perched on the table, he’s even picked up a book, looking for all the world like this is just a normal morning in his household full of adopted traumatised teens.

Then that damn claxon goes off again.  Cora sighs.

“Christ, Derek,” she says, “do we have to have that as the doorbell as well as the alarm system?”

“Not to mention it sounds like something off an 80s sci fi show,” Isaac agrees. 

“Ganging up on me already?” Derek asks, sauntering over to the alarm to switch it off.  “Please don’t tell me I’m gonna regret letting you live here, Isaac.”

Isaac shoots Cora a grin behind Derek’s back, which she returns with an eye roll.  Just like that Isaac moves up a few points in Cora’s estimation, from Annoying to Kinda Ok Maybe.

The door screeches open and Derek glances back at them expectantly.  “Let’s go.” 

“What?  Where,” Cora asks suspiciously, as Isaac heaves himself off the sofa.

Derek glances skyward, doing his Give Me Strength face.  He tends to do that a lot around Cora.  “Training, remember?  Erica and Boyd are downstairs waiting.”

Cora had in fact made a point not to remember training today, in some vain hope that it only applied to the new wolves.  “I don’t need training.”

“Oh we know.”  Isaac chucks her the sports bag, which she catches heavily.  There is a dull clunking sound as it lands in her arms.  “That’s why you’re going to be the one holding the big stick.”

Interested, Cora raises an eyebrow.  “Big stick, huh?”

\---

The drive to the woods is a lot more comfortable than Cora expected.  Turns out there’s plenty of room for four teenagers, Derek, and bags full of mysterious training materials because Derek has replaced his deceased Camaro with a much roomier Toyota.  Which Cora couldn’t resist teasing him about, as soon as she got in.  

“Really Derek, a people carrier?  You know I was joking, right.” 

“Shut up.” 

“RIP cool old man Derek, long live soccer mom Derek.” 

“Shut UP.” 

“Do you think we should have a memorial service for your pride as well as for the Camaro?” 

“If you don’t shut up I’m gonna rip out your larynx and give it to Isaac to wear as a scarf.”

“But then you’d get blood all over your lovely plush seats!”

“Also that sounds really gross,” Isaac chips in. 

“Yeah,” Erica teases, “totally wouldn’t go with your outfit either.”

“Maybe if you’re really good, Derek will stop off at the mall after soccer practice and buy you some clothes to match your new accessory,” grins Cora.

“Hey, we should go easy on Derek,” says Erica as he takes a turn a little too sharply.  “After all, he’s probably getting quite menopausal.”

Derek growls for at least 10 minutes after that, but he’s drowned out by Erica and Isaac laughing.  Even Boyd has to hide a smile.  Maybe being a part of this pack won’t be so bad after all, Cora thinks, so long as they frequently ridicule her older brother.  Laura, who would make fun of the sombre young Derek at every opportunity, had instilled in Cora the importance of teasing him, especially when he got over protective or self important (which was often).  As they start down the track into the woods, Cora feels like Laura is almost with them, sitting in the passenger seat and poking Derek’s scowl until he smiles, shooting that conspiratorial grin over her shoulder....

Cora blinks and stares out the window.  Laura isn’t here.  These kids aren’t her family.  And she hasn’t seen Derek smile, genuinely and not his mocking smirk, since she came back.

The car grinds to a halt.  They’re deep in the woods, no tracks or roads to be seen, the twisting trees growing far enough apart to form a wide clearing. 

“Capoeira,” Derek says, once they’ve unpacked the bags.  “Anyone know what that is?”

“It’s a fighting style,” Boyd replies.  “From South America.  It developed from dancing, I think.”

“Right.  You’re not always going to be able to fight as wolves,” Derek continues.  “There are times when you’ll have to protect your identity while defending yourself.  And even when you are able to shift, claws and teeth are only good if you can fight well enough to use them.  Learning a style like Capoeira will help.”

“We’ve done pretty well without so far,” Erica comments smugly.

“Oh really?”  Cora can’t miss an opportunity to dampen the other girl’s arrogance.  “Is that why I had to rescue you from being shot full of arrows?”

“We saved you from those hunters,” retorts Erica, jabbing a finger in Cora’s direction.  “I don’t remember any complaints when we brought you home to Derek.  You’re welcome, by the way.”

Cora raises an eyebrow.  “That’s not really how I remember it.”

“Yeah?  Then how come you were the one with an arrow in your leg?”

“How come you were curled up whining when I -”  Cora stops short, throwing her hand out to catch the staff Derek tosses to her. 

“If you’re gonna fight, then at least do it as part of the exercise,” he says dryly.  “There’s a branch of the Hale family from South America.  Which means we have a distinct style of Capoeira.  It was our older sister who thought of incorporating the staff for when we want to fight as human.”

Erica lets out a snort of laughter.  “So Cora’s gonna fight me off with a stick?”

“That’s right,” says Derek, clapping both hands on Erica’s shoulders.  “But there’s one rule we all have to stick to: no shifting.  You’re fighting as human today.”  He leans in closer.  “And she’s the one who has a weapon.”

Glancing up at Cora, Derek raises his eyebrows, and she can practically hear him say “don’t tell me I never give you anything.”  Cora grins dangerously at Erica, shifting her feet so her weight is perfectly balanced.  She swings the staff, curving it expertly around her elbows and shoulders, sweeping it in wide circles before dropping into her fighting stance.  In the corner of her eye, Cora notices Boyd pull an excited Isaac a few paces back. 

Derek releases Erica’s shoulders, pushing her forward slightly.  That’s the only prompt she needs.  Erica plunges towards Cora, no premeditation, just frontal assault.  Which makes it almost too easy for Cora to deftly step aside, Erica’s fist sailing past her cheek while she turns and brings the staff around to hit Erica squarely in the back.  The younger girl stumbles, but does not fall.  She looks over her shoulder to bare her teeth at Cora, who whips the staff in a double circle around her wrist, and beckons mockingly.

Cora can predict Erica’s next move even before she makes it: another straight run into a punch.  Sure enough, Erica spins and rushes forward.  Plunging the end of the staff into the soil, Cora uses it to brace her as she leaps, spinning her body to kick Erica full in the face.  As she lands, she pulls the staff out, and brings it sweeping around to make contact with Erica’s shoulder.  The girl falls, blonde curls tumbling dramatically around her.

“Uh, Derek do you think-”  Boyd’s soft words barely register with Cora.  She’s locked into her fighting mindset.  It’s almost like tunnel vision: she is totally focussed on her opponent, who is stirring and growling.  Cora had made certain to pull force back from her strikes.  The only thing wounded is Erica’s pride.

“Had enough?” Cora asks.

In reply, Erica jumps up, throwing a kick into Cora’s stomach that actually makes her take a step back.  Erica laughs triumphantly.  “Oh honey, I’m sorry, did I get dirt on your favourite Walmart tee?” she says, tossing her hair while Isaac sniggers.

Cora wants to snap back because really, Erica’s wearing a corset to a training session?  They’re werewolves, not burlesque dancers.  But she takes advantage of Erica’s momentary distraction, kicking out, her foot grazing Erica’s side enough to make her stumble.  Cora spins into a crouch, using her momentum to swing the staff around.  It crashes into Erica’s legs, and she falls again.  Before she can get up, Cora throws her leg over Erica’s chest, bracing the staff against her neck to pin the girl to the ground.

“Remind me again what a good fighter you are,” Cora grins.

“Ok cool off,” Derek says, pulling Cora off Erica, who eases herself up, clearly bruised. 

Tossing the staff to the side, Cora pulls her hair into a ponytail.  She and Derek share a glance then they look over to the others.  Boyd has an arm around a cowed Erica, and Isaac is looking at Cora with a mixture of respect and alarm. 

“Right,” Derek says, placing a hand on Cora’s shoulder.  “Who’s next?”

\---

The couch is ridiculously comfortable.  Cora breathes deeply, closing her eyes and letting her sore body relax into the cushions.  The training had lasted hours.  But Cora had almost been enjoying herself, so hadn't noticed as the light faded.

“You could help me with these bags, you know,” suggests Derek.

Not bothering to open her eyes, Cora replies, “But you’re being such a good brother letting me rest, I wouldn't want to spoil it.”

“Hmm.”

Cora stretches her legs over the couch, enjoying the quiet while she can.  Isaac is spending the evening with Erica and Boyd.  Movie night, or something.  She and Derek had declined the invitation.  Cora doesn't really have the attention span for films.  She likes flicking channels, and can just about pay attention to a TV show, but make her sit for over an hour and she gets antsy. 

That, and there had been a weekly movie night at the Hale house.  As much as Derek obviously wants to build a family again, Cora’s still trying to leave that part of her life behind.  Anything else is just too painful.

The couch bounces as Derek sits heavily next to her, shoving her legs out of the way.  “Do you mind,” says Cora grumpily, opening her eyes to glare at her brother.

“No.  I don’t.” 

Cora responds by pushing his shoulder, and he just leans in until Cora’s pushed to the edge of the couch.  “Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Yup,” Derek says smugly.  But he shuffles back over to his side.

In truth, Cora doesn’t mind when he teases her.  This is more like she remembers him: obnoxious and playful in his own stubborn way.  The Derek she came back to is much quieter than he used to be.  They spend most of the time apart, even though they live together.  He reads, or goes out on secretive errands, while Cora exercises and runs by herself.  Every evening she pauses before she goes out, wondering whether she should ask him to run with her.  It’s something that packs often do together, sharing the rush of adrenaline and the freedom as they shift in the secluded woods.  They ran together as children, and those times are still Cora’s happiest memories.  But every evening she announces she’s going out, and Derek just says goodbye, and Cora leaves alone.  They’re making progress, but for all their joking Cora still feels as though there’s an enormous distance between them.

“You don’t like Erica, do you,” Derek asks, breaking the silence.

Cora blinks.  “Uh, it’s not that I don’t like her,” she says, which isn’t entirely truthful.  “She’s just really condescending.  And impulsive.  And loud.  And she treats me like”

“A baby sister?”  Derek gives Cora a sidelong look.

“Yeah.”

“She’s a lot like Laura that way.”

Cora clenches her hands together.  “I know.”

They sit in silence for a while.  There’s so much that Cora wants to say.  Grief is hanging heavy between them, the years apart and the time they’ve lost all left unspoken.  Cora hugs her knees to her chest.  But it’s nice to be here, the glow of the setting sun warming her bare toes, as her brother hums under his breath without realising.

Then Derek glances at his phone.  “Shit, I’ve got to go.  I’ll be back in a few hours.  You gonna be ok?”

“No.  I can’t cope without your brotherly protection, Derek,” Cora says, her tone deadpan, but she smiles.

“Great.  There’s mac and cheese in the fridge.  Leave enough for Isaac.” 

Derek gets up, then leans over Cora.  For a moment she thinks he’s going to hug her, or kiss her forehead.  But he just pats her head roughly.  “See you later then.”

He leaves.  And Cora is alone for a few blissful hours, until Isaac returns.  She’s still on the sofa, her nose buried in one of Derek’s tomes. 

“Dinner’s in the fridge,” she says without looking up.

“Got it,” he says.  Cora reads a few more lines as Isaac stands stiffly.  “Have you eaten?”

“Nope.”

Isaac’s still standing in the middle of the room, and Cora reluctantly puts the book down.  “You’re not great at communication, are you.”

“Well I spent most of my childhood being shouted at or locked in a freezer so yeah.”  His tone is blasé but Cora understands.  Sometimes being candid, callously throwing out details of trauma for shock value, is a good way to deal with what you’ve been through. “I’m not big on family dynamics.” 

“Family?”  She raises an eyebrow.

“Look, do you want some dinner or not?”

Cora jumps off the sofa.  “Sure.  Unless Derek’s child locked the microwave.”

Isaac laughs.  “Wouldn’t put it past him.”


End file.
